


Sanctuary

by fictionalportal



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora is alive I swear to god, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Some Descriptions of Violence, Tumblr Prompt, all i want for pride month is a catra redemption arc, glad that's its own tag, they have a lot to talk about y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalportal/pseuds/fictionalportal
Summary: Prompt: "You probably hate me now." (from sconefacedgirl on tumblr)Catra managed to escape Hordak's wrath, but She-Ra wasn't so lucky. Too slow for the first time in her life, Catra learned that the only feeling worse than betrayal was powerlessness.





	Sanctuary

Safety was a foreign concept to Catra. She’d never liked things she didn’t understand, and the idea that she could finally sleep with her claws sheathed made her skin crawl. Here she was, somehow, a _guest_ in Bright Moon’s perfect pastel castle and a traitor to the Horde, to everything she’d ever known. The silky, black robe she was borrowing (and possibly keeping) refused to stop slipping off her shoulder, and eventually she just let it hang there. It was too much work to keep pulling it back up.

How had she possibly ended up like this--in Bright Moon, a last-minute Rebel, _alive?_

One hundred and twelve days ago, she watched her best friend abandon her for some morally superior bullshit. Now, the memory was as hazy as the smoke that had enveloped her in Thaymore.

Twenty-six days ago, she escaped her banishment to Beast Island, feral and paranoid. Allegiance became an abstract, a platonic ideal built on impossibilities. With no one left to fight for but herself, she vowed vengeance on the tyrant who sent her to that hellhole in the first place.

Finally, seven days ago, she broke back into the Fright Zone to sabotage Hordak’s portal device. Upon discovering the malfunction and nearly blowing up half of the Fright Zone, Hordak abandoned his now-impossible plans to summon an alien army to Etheria and turned his attention back to Bright Moon, convinced that Entrapta and the other Princesses were somehow responsible for his machine’s failure. He insisted on going to Bright Moon himself and took the machine with him, intent on detonating it at Bright Moon's gates. Entrapta, slippery as she was, managed to escape his wrath.

But She-Ra wasn’t so lucky.

Catra watched the Horde’s most updated weapons cut through Bright Moon’s walls like they were made of sand instead of stone. She watched the army of Princesses attack with all of their magical power, falling one by one and failing to stop the Horde’s advances. For one hundred and twelve days, Catra believed that the worst moment of her life was shrouded in purple smoke and betrayal. Then she watched She-Ra’s golden halo vanish into that metal coffin, and Catra felt all of her amoral convictions crumble. Two hundred feet up a cliffside and too slow for the first time in her life, she learned that the only feeling worse than betrayal was powerlessness.

That icy, paralyzing sensation of helplessness followed her for days after the battle even as the Princesses welcomed her as an ally (some more begrudgingly than others). Glimmer still wouldn’t say a word to her. Bow tried his best, introducing Catra officially to the other Princesses and encouraging what he believed to be harmless small talk. Catra, of course, disagreed vehemently, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with someone who consistently made a point of bringing her food. The queen was distant, distracted by the burden of rebuilding, but her hospitality was absolute.

Still, a different kind of chill wrapped itself around Catra’s bones at night as she lay on the too-soft bed, silence screaming in her ears.

She never anticipated how much she would crave the sound of light snoring from the other end of the bed.

At the very least, it might draw her attention away from the horrible images that flooded her senses every time she shut her eyes. Former squad mates collapsing in the mud, bloodied and beaten down. Bright rainbow lights drowning out in a flash of sickening green.

A soul-wrenching scream.

A deafening implosion.

Ugly silence.

Catra still wasn’t sure if the anguished cry had come from her or Adora or someone else entirely. When the machine collapsed on his giant skiff, Hordak was stranded with no way to escape. The few Princesses still standing managed to subdue him (without his advanced recharging system, he’d perished the next day).

The battlefield looked nothing like the drills Catra was used to in the Fright Zone. Instead of picking up methodically disassembled robot parts, the stragglers dragged shrapnel-riddled bodies back to the castle. Even her worst nightmares couldn’t have prepared her, though they tried.

One hundred and twelve days’ worth of terror, fury, and desolation coursed through her in the few seconds it took to reach the explosion’s epicenter. She barely registered the hilt of She-Ra’s sword submerged under a layer of silt. The artifact, once as valuable to Catra as her own life, couldn’t have mattered less in that moment. All she could see was Adora’s miraculously still-extant form--unmoving. Catra’s knees skidded into the mud as she dove to Adora’s side, desperately clawing away her white collar to find a pulse.

But of course, the sight of a known Horde soldier rushing towards She-Ra at full speed triggered an intervention from the bedraggled but relentlessly alert Bright Moon forces. Before Catra could even think to fight back, her arms were behind her back and her heels were dragging backwards through the mud.

After several strenuous council meetings and one very confusing testimony from Entrapta, Catra was absolved of her previous association with the Horde in light of her key role in stopping the invasion. Hordak’s grand plan to portal alien forces to Etheria was so far-fetched that even Catra barely believed it, so she couldn’t help but wonder if the Princesses were too exhausted and disoriented to bother with an actual trial. There was probably no precedent for "probably war criminal cripples extra-planetary invasion." They wanted this all to be over, and the council agreed that the best way to move on was to rehabilitate the Horde’s alarmingly young army instead of throwing them all in jail (Entrapta already had an entire schematic for rebuilding in the works). Either way, Catra was thankful that she wasn’t rotting in a cell somewhere--though she might have preferred stone floors to the freakishly plush carpet that wriggled between her toes like worms.

Over two days had passed since the final battle.

Catra still had no idea if Adora was alive.

Every time she tried to ask someone, they made up an excuse to cut the conversation short. She got closest to an answer with Bow, but all she learned was that everyone was under explicit orders not to tell her anything yet.

On the third night, she overheard a guard say that She-Ra was gone. Unable to accept the whispered rumor as fact, she marched into a council meeting and demanded to know the truth. Without a word, Queen Angella nodded to Bow. A few minutes later, Catra was standing in front of a large door identical to the one she herself kept locked between mealtimes. 

The door creaked open from the inside. A familiar pink poof of hair popped out, closing the door again before Catra could see anything.

Glimmer spoke to Bow, but her piercing, pained glare remained glued to Catra. “What’s she doing here?”

“Your mom said it was alright,” Bow said, gently placing a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder and coaxing her away from the door. “Come on.”

With an entirely unnecessary flash of pink sparkles, Glimmer teleported herself a few steps closer so that she was right in Catra’s face. She made up for their height difference with pure anger. “If you hurt her again--”

“Glimmer,” Bow interrupted, his voice stern but always caring.

Tears welled up in Glimmer’s eyes and Catra had to resist the urge to pat her on the head. A few months before, she would have relished in seeing a Princess show such weakness. Now all she felt was jealous. Why couldn’t she let herself cry so freely? Did she even deserve to?

“This is all your fault,” Glimmer went on. “If you hadn’t--hadn’t broken that stupid machine--”

“Hordak’s friends and family would probably be picking us out of their teeth right now,” Bow finished. He grabbed Glimmer’s arm and pulled her out of Catra’s space. “You’ve been up here all day. Let’s get something to eat, okay?”

Catra heard herself speak, sounding hoarser than usual. Maybe she’d been the one screaming after all. “Entrapta’s tiny sliders aren’t too bad, actually.”

“Are you...are you serious?” Glimmer said, breaking away from Bow. “Adora almost died because of you and you’re cracking jokes about food?”

 _Almost._ That was all Catra heard.

“She’s okay?” Catra asked, rattled by the way her voice cracked.

“No,” Glimmer countered. “But she’s alive.”

“Is she awake?” Bow’s question was quiet, firm.

Even while consumed with her profound disdain for Catra, Glimmer couldn’t ever be cruel to Bow. She nodded quickly.

“Okay, good. Now can we please go eat?”

With one last fierce glare, Glimmer followed Bow down the hall.

Catra stayed put until she couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore. One particular thought seemed to have frozen her feet right where they were: what if Adora didn’t want to see her? Maybe she agreed with Glimmer. Probably, even. It wasn’t like Adora had ever been particularly happy to see Catra in recent months. Still, she always sought Catra out in some way or another, following her away in battles and--according to Scorpia--making no effort to hide her disappointment on the occasions when Catra wasn’t leading a particular attack. During the war, Catra  _relished_ in those moments. She got to taunt Adora, get under her skin, hurl insults at her new friends. Each encounter left Catra feeling a little high. Adora might not love her anymore, but at least she still felt _something_. Burning hatred was always, always better than cold indifference. At least that way, Catra figured, she couldn't ever be forgotten. If she was lucky, she would open the door now to face the sharp end of Adora’s anger.

Just before her hand met the handle, she paused. Knocking--not something she’d ever considered necessary when interrupting Adora back when they were in the Fright Zone, but things were different in a giant castle with doors.

She tapped her knuckles against the wood three times.

“Yeah?”

Catra couldn’t have prepared herself for the effect it would have on her, hearing Adora’s voice again. With every day that passed since the battle, Catra’s doubts had pushed hope out of her mind.

“Who is it?” Adora called out again.

With a deep breath, Catra pushed the door open. She lingered in the frame, barely peeking in. She pretended it was only because she didn’t want her toes to touch that awful carpet.

“...Catra?”

“Hey, Adora.” For the first time in months, there was no venom behind those words. They’d become Catra’s fallback, a greeting she knew would fluster Adora while adding another brick to the wall between them. Win-win. As long as Adora she could make Adora feel something, she had the upper hand--but what good was that now? What _good_ was it ever?

Adora was lying down, the blanket pulled halfway up her chest, one of her hands resting on her stomach. Every visible inch of her skin was littered with cuts and colorful bruises. Most of her hair was still tucked up in her signature ponytail, but her bangs fell loosely over her cheek. “You can come in.”

Catra would never have described one of her own actions as tentative--until she tried to take a step closer. Why wasn’t Adora angry? Shouldn’t she be screaming for a guard to come and escort Catra out?

“It’s okay,” Adora said, a little smile gracing her split lip.

Halfway across the room, Catra had to stop again. If she got any closer, there was no guarantee that she would be able to resist the urge to throw herself onto the foot of Adora’s bed and fall asleep like nothing had ever gone wrong between them. “How are you?”

Adora slipped into thought for a moment, her eyebrows pressing together in that way that always made it seem like thinking too hard caused her physical pain. “Hungry,” she finally replied.

Was that...a joke? Part of Catra was relieved. At least Adora’s weird sense of humor had survived the fight. On the other hand, what gave her the right to be so blasé about almost dying? Why the hell wasn't she angry?

Apparently exhaustion degraded Catra’s ability to mask her emotions. Adora propped herself up on one elbow, that obnoxious concerned look on her face. “Catra?”

None of this was going how Catra expected. For so long--most of her life, really--she’d been able to predict what other people would do so easily. Then Adora left, and Shadow Weaver left, and Hordak took everything else. Her system fell apart. What was she supposed to do when she couldn’t calculate her next thought three steps in advance?

“Bow told me what you did. In the battle. Or before, I guess.” As she spoke, Adora pushed herself up to sit back against her pillow. She settled into her new position, carefully arranging herself to minimize the pain. Catra couldn't bear to watch her struggle. She was Adora, she was She-Ra--she was invincible.

“You probably hate me now.” _You should._

“I’d be--lying if I said I wasn’t angry,” Adora said, her breath catching as she winced. Despite the exertion, her tone returned to bafflingly teasing, almost playful. “This would have been a whole lot easier for everyone if you’d switched sides a little earlier, you know.”

Catra shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, well. Easy’s boring.” The carpet squished up between her toes. As she stared down at the floor, she was overwhelmed with a sudden desire to tear all of Bright Moon’s upholstery to shreds.

“Do you wanna sit?” Adora asked.

Catra looked around the room. She found a wardrobe, a desk and mirror, a small waterfall-- _seriously?_ \--and exactly zero chairs. Treating Adora’s invitation as more of a stern request, she started to sit on the floor.

A snort made her freeze halfway to the ground.

“What?”

“You can sit on the bed. If you want.”

Catra narrowed her eyes, but what was she going to do? Say no?

Taking care to watch for any changes on Adora’s open, inviting face, Catra made her way to the foot of the bed and hopped up. It was much less soft than the horribly plush monstrosity Catra had been struggling to climb onto every night.

“How come your bed doesn’t suck?” She muttered, patting the firm mattress next to her crossed legs.

“I asked Glimmer if I could switch it out.”

“Ah. So if I ask for a harder bed, I’ll probably get one made out of actual marshmallows.”

Adora let out a laugh, then immediately swallowed it and clutched at her ribs. “Why?”

Catra raised an eyebrow. “Uh, because Glitter hates my guts.” The limits of Adora’s obliviousness never ceased to amaze.

“Maybe it’s because you refuse to use her actual name.”

“Whatever.” Catra did not care to discuss the Princess of Bright Moon right now.

Adora’s blankets whispered softly as she shifted her legs under them. She opened and closed her mouth several times, failing to catch and release the slippery words she was searching for. “I--I know... Things have been...”

Catra felt that always unwelcome burning behind her eyes, the swelling in her throat like her tongue had fallen out of place. When did it become so hard to talk to each other? Before everything, in the Fright Zone, their interactions were filled with easy banter, especially on their most difficult days. Even when they found themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield, they could still trade jabs like it was second-nature. How were they supposed to talk to each other now without friendship, without hatred?

The question in Catra’s head became louder and louder until she felt her mind screaming itself raw.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

She hadn’t meant to say it. The words had just broken out, like an animal tearing apart its cage.

Adora was quiet. It might have been unsettling if she didn’t look so tranquil.

Finally, she spoke. “I was really, really angry for a while. I didn’t understand how you could stay with the Horde. But then Shadow Weaver came to Bright Moon, and--”

“Wait, she what?”

“Don’t worry. She’s locked up. She hasn’t said a word, but...it made me remember a lot of things. I know it wasn’t as black and white for you.”

To call the news shocking would be an understatement. Shadow Weaver escaped the Horde--and went straight to the Rebellion?

“I guess she thought it was better to be a prisoner here than in the Fright Zone.” Adora smiled a little. “The food is way better here.”

Catra didn’t know what to think. She wasn’t sure she had any energy left to think at all. She hadn’t been surprised when Shadow Weaver used her and left her behind, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Maybe now Catra could finally get some answers--or, even better, closure.

“Anyway, I know things got messed up. With us. But then you disappeared and even Scorpia didn’t know where you were and I--” Adora’s voice caught again, but this time it wasn’t from a twinge in her ribs. Just like Catra, she was trying to hold back from crying. With a loud sniff, she braced herself and kept going. “I tried looking for you, but Hordak hired some bounty hunter lady to kill me and she caught up with us in the Crimson Waste. Then there was this brutal sandstorm and we got attacked by another one of those giant worm things...” As the memory washed over her, Adora trailed off.

“Uh,” was all Catra could say. Fortunately, it was enough to bring Adora back.

“Right,” she continued. “I couldn’t believe it when you showed up at Bright Moon. Half of the Princesses thought you were dead.”

“Thought or hoped?” Catra scoffed.

“I knew you were too stubborn to get killed.”

 _Barely._ Catra could never forget Hordak’s horrifying atmosphere manipulator. The unique pain as her lungs turned to barbed wire, stabbing at her insides--she relived it every night.

Adora sat up straighter and adjusted her pillows behind her. When she looked at Catra again, there was a gentle tilt at the corner of her lips that Catra was sure she had already seen for the last time. The soft brightness in her eyes reminded Catra of when they were little, when Adora had promised that they would always have each other. “I felt a lot of things, Catra. But I never hated you.” She repeated herself, barely a whisper. “I could never hate you.”

Catra wanted to believe her.

So, so badly.

But it still didn’t make sense.

“Why not?” She asked, matching Adora’s minimal volume. If she put any more force behind her words, she might crack in half.

“Do you hate me?” Adora asked, voice still small.

“I did,” Catra admitted. “I hated you for leaving.”

Adora leaned closer, but it seemed like more effort than it was worth. Her smile morphed into a ridiculous little smirk. “Did you hate me, or did you just miss me?”

“Yeah, you wish,” Catra muttered, picking at a string on the blanket. “You find one magic sword and suddenly you think everyone’s in love with you.”

“I didn’t say anything about that,” Adora said, looking far too pleased with herself.

Suddenly, Catra remembered the battle. She’d been so focused on getting to Adora that she’d forgotten--the sword. It wasn’t in the room as far as Catra could see, and it wasn’t like Adora to let it out of her sight. “Where is that thing, anyway?”

“Um, it kind of melted.”

“So? Can’t you just magic it back into shape?”

“Not really,” Adora’s shoulders slumped out of their perpetually proud posture. “The Eternian technology in Hordak’s machine was strong enough to destroy it. Apparently She-Ra wasn’t as invincible as everybody thought. Glimmer’s got Entrapta and all of Bright Moon’s blacksmiths working on it, but I don’t think they’ll be able to do much.”

“But without the sword...” When Catra realized what Adora was getting at, her eyeballs nearly popped out of her head.

Adora nodded. “When I was in that machine, it felt like it just sort of...ripped her out of me, I guess?”

“You haven’t, like, heard voices or anything?”

“Nothing.”

“What about that creepy robot lady?”

“Light Hope? I don’t know. Once I’m feeling better I’ll go check out the First Ones’ temple. Eternian temple, I guess.”

Catra felt like she needed to lie down and stare at the ceiling for an hour.

When Adora first found the sword, Catra blamed She-Ra for taking her best friend away. Then it was the Princesses' fault, Shadow Weaver's, Hordak's. Some days into her time in the Crimson Waste, Catra realized that most of those people had only carried her own motivations for staying with the Horde: her conditioned fear of the Princesses, her need for Shadow Weaver’s approval, and the promise of power Hordak dangled in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Now She-Ra was gone--maybe forever. The Horde was, too. Etheria was safe. Adora’s cosmic destiny was wrapped up neatly with a melted metal bow and Catra had nothing left to prove.

Catra was the reason She-Ra was gone. Part of it, at least. Hordak’s portal device was originally supposed to bring Eternians through, so Catra must have accidentally reversed its function and rendered it unstable. Entrapta could probably explain it (in a way that only she herself would be able to understand).

How did they end up at the center of a war with universe-sized consequences?

Adora scratched at one of the many scabs on her forearm and looked up at Catra sheepishly. “You could come with me. To the temple.”

Catra tried to laugh it off. Her thoughts were a whirlwind; it was all too much. “What, and risk getting eaten by magic, metal spiders again? No thanks.”

“We probably won’t even get into the temple. But I could use some company in the Whispering Woods. Plus, there are a lot of places that will need support now that the war is over.”

Adora had every reason, every possible reason, to be absolutely furious with Catra. She could and should throw Catra out and never speak to her again, and yet there they were, sitting in the same bed. And Adora was asking her to stay.

Adora looked almost relieved. Surely she was grieving on some level, but she no longer carried the weight of an entire planet on her back. Even with her many bruised ribs, she seemed like she could exhale for the first time in months.

For months, they had fought and screamed and battled and hurt each other in every way they could think of. And despite it all, Adora was willing to forgive. Catra knew that she had to do the same if there was any chance...

“Yeah, okay,” Catra breathed.

“Really?” Adora asked.

The palpable hope in Adora’s voice breathed life into Catra’s own dormant sense of humor. Catra shifted, snapping herself out of it. Her knee bumped into Adora’s foot. “I should warn you, though. I’m not very good at being good.”

Adora poked her toes into Catra’s leg. “Me neither, at first. I’ve had a little more time to practice.”

“I’m sure after a few months I’ll be way better at it than you.”

“You wish,” Adora tossed back. “So...does that mean you’re staying?”

“Nah, I figured I’d go wander the Crimson Waste again. I think there were a few rock formations I didn’t see the first time.”

Adora tapped her chin faux-ponderously. “You might want to go on your post-war vacation somewhere else. Red’s not really your color.”

“It could be. I could steal it from you.”

“Good luck with that.” Adora was clearly trying her hardest to keep from succumbing to a fit of giggles.

Catra understood the giddiness. It was a relief for their banter to feel so light, devoid of vicious implications. Still, she was exhausted and nowhere near the mindset necessary for devolving into hysterical laughter (hysterical tears, maybe). She stretched her arms overhead and heard her joints crack pointedly.

“Are you tired?” Adora asked innocently.

“You’re not?”

“I kinda spent the last three days sleeping, so...not really. Angella still said I’m not allowed to get out of bed until tomorrow at the earliest.”

That was probably for the best. Knowing Adora, she’d be on her feet as soon as possible, clamoring to help with relief efforts.

Catra could feel the sheer exhaustion of the last few days (months) weighing down every cell in her body. The planet was safe, Shadow Weaver was locked up, and Hordak was gone. Most importantly, Adora was okay. 

Catra might actually be able to get some rest. With another quick stretch, she uncrossed her legs and moved towards the edge of the bed.

“You can stay here if you want since your bed’s so uncomfortable,” Adora managed, her tongue tripping over itself.

Catra contemplated the offer. She was certainly tired enough to fall asleep right where she was. Instead of sliding off and slinking back to her own room, she curled up by Adora’s feet and tucked her hands under her chin in a little pillow. Her eyes closed automatically.

“Catra?”

“Mhm?”

“Come up here?”

One of Catra’s eyes opened (the other was definitely asleep already). The sight made her heart clench.

Adora had fixed her pillows so that two were set up next to each other at the head of the bed. She was holding herself up on one shaky elbow, and there was something just as unsteady in Adora’s smile, like she was worried that Catra might find the offer ridiculous and bolt out the window.

How could Catra possibly say no to her?

She padded up the mattress and settled onto the other pillow. “You promise not to snore?”

“If you promise not to smother me with your hair.”

Catra promptly flipped onto her other side and made sure that her wild mane landed squarely on Adora’s face.

Sputtering, Adora shoved her shoulder. Even with her various injuries and without the spirit of She-Ra, she was still scarily strong. Catra squeaked as she tumbled off of the bed and hit the floor with an entirely ungraceful thwump.

“Are you okay?” Adora could have had the decency to sound even a little bit concerned, but the cackling made Catra doubt the sincerity of her question.

“You’re such a dumbass.” Catra got up slowly, not even bothering to stand fully before crawling back into bed.

Adora painstakingly turned onto her side, hissing an inhale through her teeth. Her foot playfully bopped against Catra’s. “I’m sorry.”

Catra’s let her hand drift to Adora’s cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair back along the way. She made sure to keep her sharp nails from scraping the sensitive skin. Her thumb stroked an old scar on Adora’s cheek, one that she’d gotten during the first Battle of Bright Moon. Catra swore that her claws would never be the cause of another mark on Adora’s skin. “Yeah, same.”

An arm snaked around Catra’s waist and pulled her closer.

“Your feet are cold,” Catra mumbled, already slipping into sleep.

"So? Warm them up." Adora tucked her head under Catra’s chin (long ago determined to be the safest way to avoid suffocation by unruly hair).

That night, Catra still had nightmares, but she was a little less afraid when she woke up.

***

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for the prompt!! i loved writing this one. <3


End file.
